


who will fix me now

by scribbleb_red



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Andrew Minyard is a beefcafe, Angst and Humor, Beefy Minny AU, Crack, Exy (All For The Game), Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Roofer AU, This started as a Morning AU, but not a lot of exy, morning AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23409640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribbleb_red/pseuds/scribbleb_red
Summary: Neil is aware of everyone around him - he has to be if he wants to survive - but he can’t help being distracted by the man clambering around on Allison Reynolds’ roof.She was the one who pointed him out, to be fair. “I have an absolute beefcake fixing my roof. Just look.”Neil looked, frowning.“A very small beefcake,” she added, “but still. Beefcake.”***AKA Andrew Minyard is a roofer and a beefcake. Neil Josten is an adorable, dangerous, mess. He also needs a lot more than his roof fixing.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 56
Kudos: 277





	1. Beefcake Minyard

It was a summer job at first - just a summer job.

Aaron’s stupid idea after it became too hard to maintain a job in a public place like Eden’s.

“You’re notorious,” his twin had said. “And if you don’t want attention, you need to stop waving a red flag at a bull.”

So, Andrew quit the bar and looked for roles where he could work alone.

He found roofing.

The idea was ridiculous - he hated heights almost as much as he hated people. And he hated them because the promise of the fall terrified him.

Andrew did not enjoy feeling afraid.

Except, he did.

After everything - all the things he refused to dwell on - it felt good to feel anything at all.

_The twinge in his gut when he climbed a ladder._

_The rapid beat of his heart when he was too close to the edge._

_The surging desire to survive if his foot just slipped._

It reminds him that he’s not ready to die, even if he doesn’t see a reason to live.

And no matter how many years it’s been now – how many summers passed since this was “just” a summer job or how few people recalled the name Andrew Minyard – Andrew still enjoys the rush. The life affirming fear.

And the other benefits too - the lack of other people, the silence. Andrew would shove on his headphones and tune out the shitty world with its shitty humans - although he did like the birds-eye view of their shitty lives.

He sees it all: fights, affairs, clandestine meetings, drug deals, the neighbour who always pisses on next-door’s geraniums before work.

Watching people makes him feel better about his own routine: _work, feel, repeat_ , and occasionally fuck strangers on the weekend.

And then Andrew sees _Him_.

A tiny thing, red-haired, lean as a clip-point and a temper that’s just as deadly if the phone calls are anything to go by. He lives three doors down from where Andrew is working and apparently really does not like the person who keeps calling him.

He also has the annoying habit of waving at Andrew, smiling up at him - noticing the way Andrew notices him.

It makes Andrew’s ears go pink.

He is not blushing. It’s the cold.

The fourth time it happens, he makes the mistake of giving a two fingered salut back. He knows it’s a mistake because almost immediately, that smile turns into a grin. It’s too sharp and too wide and too much for Andrew to look at, even at a distance. He turns away, ramps up the volume on his Emo Forever playlist and let’s Maria count him out of today.

***

Neil is aware of everyone around him - he has to be if he wants to survive - but he can’t help being distracted by the man clambering around on Allison Reynolds’ roof.

She was the one who pointed him out, to be fair. “I have an absolute beefcake fixing my roof. Just look.”

Neil looked, frowning.

“A very small beefcake,” she added, “but still. Beefcake.”

Neil had cocked his head. “What does that mean?”

Her eyes had bugged. “I thought you were a linguist.”

“For dead languages.” And French and German and Russian and Arabic and Italian.

“You poor nerd,” Allison said. “It means check out the arms on him. Absolute guns. Also those shoulders. I swear my waist is thinner than his neck.”

“I don’t think you’re very good at sizing people up, Ally.”

“Can’t a girl use hyperbole in peace?” Her expression had turned sly. “So. Is _he_ your type?”

And despite Neil shaking his head in a vehement _no_ , days later he’s still rather self-aware whenever he sees the lonely figure of the man on Allison’s roof.

“Beefcake,” he says to himself. The word doesn’t feel right in his mouth.

And then his phone rings.

And his heart pounds.

And it’s an unknown number but he knows exactly who it is.

And his veins feel like ice - like his blood is sharp and his breathing isn’t enough.

Will this ever be over? Will he ever be free?

***

Andrew is just finishing up for Allison Reynolds when the storm blows in.

Andrew doesn’t mind storms except that they keep him on the ground. But they cause damage too. Acts of God are a lucrative line of repairs for him. Two days of wind and hail. A third of downpour.

Andrew doesn’t usually count chickens but he’s already maxed out his voicemail with new enquiries.

He sits back with a coffee - made with half and half caramel - and presses play.

Most of them are small fry - fallen slates, water coming down chimneys, a little bit of flashing.

And then there's a voice that's a little more alarmed than the rest and Andrew's ears prick.

He sips his coffee. He listens.

"So uh I think my roof collapsed?" says the caller. "Like, we've gone from a little bit of damp but I guess I didn't think it was a big deal because I've definitely been in worse places but now water is definitely coming from the ceiling and it dripped on my face and there aren't pipes up there so it has to be the roof I think."

This sounds like a good bit of money, Andrew thinks, and silently lifts his eyes to the heavens in thanks.

"And Allison says you're good," adds the caller. "So maybe you can come and fix my beef. I mean roof. Fix my roof. Ha ahaha uhhhh um. Call me?"

Andrew's eyebrow twitches.

There's a crackle on the line and string of curse words in German and then the message goes dead.

 _Allison has recommended him_. _That's interesting_. Andrew hadn't expected that. She seemed rather leery of his presence on her roof.

The thought crosses his mind: _is this the man with the red hair and the knife-blade grin?_

Sounds a bit like him - though it's hard to tell this rabbiting, anxious voice from the angry, sharp-tongued man who he's so often heard spitting down the phone at some unfortunate soul. Then again, there's nothing like being woken up in the night by water coming through your roof to turn a person human.

Humming to himself, he vaguely takes in the next few messages, but he already knows he's taking this one.

He texts the number back without emptying his inbox.

> _A: Can take a look at your roof tomorrow. Send your email address and I'll share a quote and photos of the issue by midday._
> 
> _N: thank u so much_
> 
> _N: njos10[@]gmail[.]com_
> 
> _N: the n is 4 neil btw - im neil._
> 
> _N: thnk u again_

***

Neil is on edge.

He's tired and he's annoyed and he's definitely got the grumps (as Allison would call it).

The sofa was uncomfortable. His bedroom was uninhabitable. And who knew that buildings insurance was such a fucking nightmare product.

And now there's a man in his garden.

_The roofer._

He's short and he's broad and he's really really blond from this close. Everything about him is fair - his hair, his lashes, his brows, his skin. There are even pale freckles from the sun and wind over his nose.

And god, Neil really doesn't understand why Allison had to mention that the guy was "beefy" because now all his brain can do is try to figure out if muscular arms look like meat or not.

A thought strikes him.

> _N: Hey Ally, what's the roofer's name?_

He watches from the window as the ladder goes up the building and as the roofer eyes it warily - it's like the guy is steeling himself to climb it. Like he doesn't really want to but is going to anyways. His eyes are also the most curious shade of amber that Neil's ever seen.

> _Al: Andrew Minyard. Why?_
> 
> _N: roof fell in yday_
> 
> _Al: omg r u ok?_
> 
> _N: yeh, just pissed off tbh. Andrew is here._
> 
> _Al: ... beefy minny is doing ur roof?_
> 
> _N: y do u call him that so weird_
> 
> _Al: ah to b a young n naive demisexual like u neilio beanio_
> 
> _N: not naive_
> 
> _Al: ah sweet padawan, u do not no what u do not no._
> 
> _N: u r the worst_
> 
> _Al: i am the best_
> 
> _Al: also i invited Matt and Dan 4 dinner. u shd come._
> 
> _N: kk kl_
> 
> _Al: not an answer_

Neil doesn't answer that last bit. He's dropped his phone on his face because Andrew is knocking at the door, looking bored and disinterested. Neil scrambles up with and brushes himself down. He's in a loose long-sleeve and shorts.

_It's presentable? Maybe?_

_It'll do._

***

This, Andrew decides, is absolutely not fair.

Neil might be glaring, blue eyes like the storm that just passed, but in the sleep-rumpled shirt and those shorts? with those legs? and that face? Well, what's a gay supposed to do with odds like that?

Andrew checks Neil out.

Draws his eyes heavily from head to toe and back, lingering on the hair, the eyes, the tapered waist and the hem of those indecently short shorts.

"You need a new roof," he says. Ever so calm. "Figured if you're in I can show you the photos now."

"Great," Neil replies, frowning. He shifts on his feet, tilts his head like he's confused.

Andrew steps a little closer, close enough to be a question, offers his phone.

Neil shuffles forward too. He's wearing soft blue socks with orange fox paws on them. He takes the phone.

They go through the details - what the roof needs and why and how.

Andrew tells him the costs and Neil doesn’t exactly flinch, but he closes his eyes and then breathes out very slowly.

“That’s less than I expected. You may have just saved me from those incompetent insurers.” There’s a tang to the words like Neil wants to say something harsher but resisted.

Andrew starts work straight away, delighted to be putting distance between himself and those short ass shorts.

He pulls his headphones on and peers over the edge of the three storey town house - he'd probably die if he fell - but there's no guarantee.

He does not think about long, lean legs or the scars cutting lines over them as he pulls away the wreckage. He does not think of the hemline that shifted as Neil did. He does not think of anything other than tile and lead and concrete.

_Yeah, right._

It's about halfway through the day that he realises he's not alone. Neil has poked his head out of a skylight and is waving in his general direction. Andrew frowns. The point of roofing is to be far away from idiots, not to be harassed by those who can't dress themselves.

"Want a cup of tea?" asks Neil when Andrew takes off his headphones. "Putting the kettle on."

"Coffee," Andrew says. "Four sugars, cream."

Neil's mouth pulls into a stunned “Oh”. On him the expression is indecent, especially staring upwards like that with his stupid blue eyes.

Neil vanishes. Andrew begins to think he won't be back until suddenly there he is, clambering out of the skylight, wriggling his body onto the roof with a thermos clutched in his hand.

"Added five sugars," Neil says once he's perched on the ridge by Andrew. "Only had milk."

Huffing, Andrew takes the thermos. The coffee smells good. He doesn't say thanks. Neil doesn't seem to care though, he's busy being wide-eyed over the view.

"I should have come up here before," Neil says. "That view."

"You'd have fallen through. Whole thing is rotten."

"Still, it's nice up here. Is this why you do it?"

Andrew regrets replying before. He doesn't want a conversation. He goes back to his tools, ignoring the question.

They fall into comfortable silence - Neil barely paying Andrew attention, Andrew definitely not looking at Neil.

This job really needs more than one man - but Andrew always works alone. He's lifting the whole thing, replacing wood, insulation, tiles, concrete, repointing the chimney, releading it all. He works efficiently, silently. Neil comes and goes with more coffee and questions.

He's sweaty and exhausted by the end of the day. It's a good feeling.

He doesn't say goodbye to Neil but nods when he spots him in the window.

Neil's face twitches in a smile.

***

Dinner at Allisons is exactly what Neil needed.

Matt and Dan fuss and coo and hug him tight. They apologise for the roof and he tells them not to be silly - he wouldn't have anywhere to live if not for them.

Hell, he might not be alive.

They eat and drink and even Neil has a little of the rose because he knows he's safe with these three. They talk about Renee, Allison's girlfriend who is currently in Ethiopia doing something good for the planet. They catch up on Dan's coaching, she'll pass her exams soon. Allison's business is flying, but they all knew that. And Matt, giant and warm Matt, admits he's not sure about the new physician for his team.

"He's called Aaron," he says. "And he's a tiny but very effective asshole."

"We have one of those," Allison says. "Our roofer."

"Beefcake," Neil says. It still sounds wrong to him. "Andrew."

Allison nearly spits her wine. "Yes, our absolutely dench roofer- his arms are bigger than yours Matt. Neil can't stop staring."

"Hey!"

"Oh so I have competition huh?"

"No! What? No."

"The Neil doth protest too much."

"You're all awful. He's just fixing the roof and has very big muscles. I don't understand you, at all."

"Of course, you don't."

He doesn't. He really doesn't. Andrew _is_ strong, that was impossible to miss. But why Allison is so interested in that fact honestly baffles him.

They're clearing away dinner when his phone rings. Neil jumps so hard that he drops the plate in his hand and it shatters at his feet. Voices move around him as he pulls out his phone and sees another blocked number. It rings and rings and rings. He can't do this now.

Someone takes his phone away.

Silences it.

Arms wrap him up in a hug that's fierce and protective and all Dan.

Matt joins a second later and then there's the scent of Allison's perfume and the scrape of her nails along his temple, soothing and familiar.

"Was that him?"

Neil nods. Swallows. "I keep buying new phones but he keeps finding my number."

"Does he know where you live?" Allison's worry is a practical thing.

"Doubt it or he'd have turned up by now," says Matt. "Restraining order aside."

"Because we all know he'd care about that."

They all end up sleeping at Allison's that night. Neil curls up tight in her second spare room and sleeps fitfully.

He's safe here, he tells himself. _But for how long this time?_ asks the voice in his head _. How long before his patience runs out and I have to run again?_

He remembers lonely nights with bones aching with cold. He remembers bus stops and dark alleys. Changing names and hair colour and never staying still for too long. He was so young back then.

Matt checks on him in the night, popping his head in like a worried parent.

"Hey buddy," he says when he sees Neil awake. "Ice cream?"

"Tea?"

"Come on then."

They doze off together, with an empty carton and the sound of How To Train Your Dragon playing in the background.

***

Andrew isn't an idiot, he can feel the tension the next day when Neil let's himself back into the house and almost immediately appears on the roof.

"Hey," Neil says, offering a fresh thermos and a smile. It's weaker than yesterdays and there are bruises beneath his eyes.

"Hfft." Andrew's grunt at least makes the smile lift a little more, creating those crinkles that Andrew hadn't even realised he noticed before.

They go back to their silence.

It's warm today and Andrew sheds his jacket as he works.

Neil's attention sharpens. _Interesting_.

Around midday Neil disappears only to return with sandwiches - honey roast ham, cheese, and salmon. Also jam.

"Didn't know what you might like so made several options," Neil says, taking a cheese one for himself. "Help yourself."

Andrew eats all the ham and then the jam.

They sit, full and sated, on the ridge for a while. Andrew pulls out a pack of cigarettes, raising them in question. When Neil shakes his head, Andrew lights up and inhales deeply. Neil breathes it in alongside him.

Later Neil heads off for a run and returns an hour later, flushed and vibrant. He looks better than he did this morning. He comes back to the roof and Andrew's annoyance triples.

_Does he have to come up like that? Of course, he does._

Apparently he wants to talk.

"So how did you get into this?" Neil asks. "Run in the family?"

"No."

"So, it is for the views?"

"No."

"I guess the money is good."

"Yes."

"You don't talk much, huh?"

"Nope."

"What can you bench?"

Andrew looks over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow. Neil laughs. It's not a laugh that's pretty - it's rough and throaty. Andrew hates it.

"I could bench you," Andrew says. He hates himself too. "Though it wouldn't be that impressive given how small you are."

"You're short too."

"But you couldn't bench me. Do you want to try?"

Neil still looks amused but he shakes his head. "Not sure it'd be a very good idea up here."

"Good to know you've got at least two brain cells."

Andrew goes back to his work. There's sweat trickling down his back and his shoulders are straining. He knows Neil is watching.

When Neil's phone rings, he wriggles back into the house but he doesn't close the skylight behind him. Andrew can hear him even though he doesn't mean to. Neil is angry and scared. It's there in equal measure in his voice.

"Stop fucking calling me. You can't keep calling me. No, you listen- if not to me than to the restraining order. Why are you even doing this? No. Stop. _Don't_. If you keep doing this I'll report you. Why not? Because you're my brother? You know what, I get it. Really I do. But you're delusional. God if you're saying I have daddy issues take a good look at yourself. You're a psycho. Leave them alone. I'll fucking gut you. I know how. You know I know how. Stop doing this."

It's a litany and Neil ricochets from rage to terror and back.

Andrew doesn't like the sound of it.

Restraining orders? Threats? Begging? That comment about knowing how to gut someone?

He thinks of the scars that weren't hidden by the too tiny shorts.

He thinks of the crinkles in Neil's smile.

He shakes himself. He's here to work.

***

Neil doesn't go back onto the roof that afternoon. He sees Andrew leave and he sighs from his position on the sofa.

He ought to make up his own spare room so he has somewhere to sleep tonight but doesn't.

He can't bring himself to move.

He really ought to have done some of his own work today - he runs a translation service for novelists and writers. All online so that he doesn't have to broach offices and deal with sharing his address with employers. He has a PO Box for all mail and admin and invoices. He keeps layers between himself and the world and everyone in it. Except Allison and Matt and Dan - though he'd probably have tried to keep them away too if it hadn't been for their persistence. He even uses variants of his name - hiding all he is and ever was.

He tries to pull himself together but can't.

Around midnight he heads up to the roof and crawls out of the sky light and sits there alone.

Andrew has left covers over the holes and they ripple like waves on a calm sea.

He is still there when dawn breaks.

Andrew finds him there.

Neil is cold and shivering but he hasn't moved. For the first time, something like emotion flashes on Andrew's face.

"Did you sleep up here?"

"Didn't sleep," Neil croaks. His teeth chatter.

"For fates sake," Andrew grumbles. "Come on. Up."

All Neil’s joints groan as Andrew physically hefts him onto his feet and then towards the window.

He has to help Neil down too. And then away from the window and into the house.

He takes blankets from the bedrooms and wraps them around Neil. Finds the kettle and makes coffee.

"If you were trying to kill yourself there are easier ways than hypothermia," Andrew says.

"I wasn't trying to die," replies Neil. Sighs. "Just not to feel."

Andrew makes that noise that's half huff, half amusement. "The opposite of me then."

"Hm?"

"Never mind."

Andrew stays for a while in the kitchen with Neil - he leans against the counter. Short and glowering, arms crossed over his chest.

It really is a broad chest. Like Andrew's entire body is muscle.

Neil wonders if that's what Allison meant. That Andrew was just _buff_.

"You have a staring problem," Andrew says.

Apparently cold Neil also has a filter problem because he says, "Your arms are bigger than Matt Boyd's."

Andrew rolls his eyes. "These guns are bigger than his thighs."

"Probs." Neil's lips quirk. He hasn't got the energy to smile yet.

"Glad you noticed, given how much you look."

Neil feels his face pinking and ducks his chin. "You stare too. I used to see you up there watching us."

"You're hard to ignore."

Neil looks up through his lashes, unsure if he's ready to see what expression is on Andrew's face.

It's perfectly blank as usual - pale and stoic, fair freckles the only thing that made him undeniably human.

"What does that mean?"

Andrew picks up his own coffee and shrugs. He doesn't answer the question but equally he doesn't ask why Neil was on the roof all night either.

"Stay inside today," he tells Neil before going up to work. "Shower. Sleep. Eat. Or you'll get sick."

Neil feels the blush come back with a vengeance and nods. He does as he's told. He stays away. He considers texting Allison, but she'll tease and he's not in the mood.

His phone lies abandoned in a corner.

It flashes with a message before the battery dies.


	2. Neilio Beanio and his long, long, legs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He keeps thinking of Neil’s eyes as they turned to him, bruised by sleeplessness, impossibly blue against the morning sky and the pallor of his frozen skin. And then how Neil looked at him in the kitchen through his lashes – stare lingering on his chest, on his shoulders, tracing down his arms.
> 
> Curious and (dare he hope) interested.
> 
> He keeps thinking of Neil saying: Your arms are bigger than Matt Boyd's.
> 
> Asking Andrew: How much do you bench.
> 
> And all the stupid things Andrew had replied: Glad you noticed. I could bench you. You’re hard to ignore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this in the style of a Morning AU so here you go - a whirligig of a chapter.

Andrew spends the morning alone on the roof, feeling strange and out of sorts.

He can’t lose himself in the work today. He can’t forget everything he wants to forget as his shoulders strain and his skin prickles with sweat.

He keeps thinking of Neil. How small he looked curled on the roof, a frail little gargoyle with his spine curved and his teeth gritted to stop them from chattering.

He keeps thinking of Neil’s eyes as they turned to him, bruised by sleeplessness, impossibly blue against the morning sky and the pallor of his frozen skin. And then how Neil looked at him in the kitchen through his lashes – stare lingering on his chest, on his shoulders, tracing down his arms.

Curious and ( _dare he hope_ ) interested.

He keeps thinking of Neil saying: _Your arms are bigger than Matt Boyd's_.

Asking Andrew: _How much do you bench_.

And all the stupid things Andrew had replied: _Glad you noticed. I could bench you. You’re hard to ignore._

“For fuckssake,” he mutters, ripping slate after slate away from the rotten roof and glowering into the mess left behind. “Fucks fucking sake.”

Neil is the most frustrating person Andrew has ever had in his entire life.

“Bloody asshole,” he curses again because it feels good.

 _Hadn’t it been enough that the guy was hot_ (Andrew still finds himself distracted by the memory of Neil’s long runner’s legs in those cursed short shorts from the first day they properly met)? _Did he have to be pathetic too_?

 _Adorable_ , corrects a little voice in his head.

 _Self-destructive and stupid_ , Andrew hisses back.

 _Like a kitten_ , says his brain.

 _I’m the disaster_ , Andrew realises and lobs the next slate over the side of the roof, relishing the crash and clatter of it as it hits the skip below.

But there’s something haunted about Neil Josten.

There’s something _interesting_ about his flickering smile and mysterious phonecalls.

He’s so quick to anger, a flame constantly ready to meet the fuse.

And then today he’d been all but snuffed out. Like he’d lost the will to fight.

And Andrew had been there. Long, long ago. Before roofing. Before exy. Before Andrew had a reputation. Before…

 _Stop_. he forces himself to stop.

Andrew hates Neil. It’s simple as that.

(So, of course, he doesn’t check on the redhead at all when he goes inside to make his own coffee. Of course, not.

He doesn’t peer through the crack in the door. He doesn’t pause when he sees Neil has passed out, curled into the corner of the sofa and obscured by a blanket, one socked foot and his messy red hair poking out. He doesn’t fight the urge to tuck his leg back in, to gentle a pillow under Neil’s head, to check he’s okay.

None of that happens. Obviously.)

***

Neil sleeps for most of the day but his mind is fitful and full of shadows – memories and nightmares vying for the top spot on his list of horrors.

And when he wakes up, he knows immediately that he’s not okay.

His body is too hot and too achy. He tries to roll off the sofa but finds his head swimming and his legs trembling.

He doesn’t know what to do.

He sits on the floor, trying to make himself move but fails.

He doesn’t know how much time passes. He doesn’t know what to do.

He doesn’t keep any medications.

He doesn’t have chicken soup or ginger or lemon tea – none of the things Matt and Dan feed him when he’s looking, as they describe, peaky.

His brain is still full of monsters and he can hear the snicker-snack of sharpening knives between the thud thud thud of his heart in his ears. 

He knows he’s half dreaming, but he almost feels like he’s _back there_.

He feels terror and guilt.

He’s breaking the rules. No one is allowed to get sick. It’s a sign of disobedience. He’s not allowed to be sick. He has to get up and prove he’s loyal. He can’t let them see…

Shaking and shivering, Neil folds over his legs. Wishing he had water. Wishing he wasn’t alone. Wishing he could stop himself from drowning.

Lucidity comes in waves. He closes his eyes. Holds his breath. Tries to centre himself. But the weight of the world is on top of him and he’s going under again. 

***

It’s as he’s finishing up for the day that Andrew notices that something in the street might be amiss.

He spots the Mercedes twice before he realises that it’s circling the block, slowing down in front of Neil’s house each time.

The third time he sees it nose around the corner, he considers shuffling down the roof to hide from view – there’s something wrong here. He feels like he’s being watched.

Perhaps it’s nothing. But Andrew notices that the car has black-out windows. That it doesn’t stop, just lingers. And that it slows near Alison Reynold’s place as well.

It could be some lost fool in an asshole’s car, but Andrew’s gut twists with the surety that _this is not right_.

He watches it loop a fourth time. A fifth.

On the sixth, Andrew stands up. He glares down at the car. And then he lifts his hand in a two fingered salute and grins.

The car breaks a little too hard. It jerks. Andrew feels vindicated. Whoever it is, they were watching him. And as the car speeds away, all squealing tires and smoke, he lets his hand and his fake grin drop away.

It’s none of his business, but he knows he needs to tell Neil that someone is watching the house.

Andrew might not have the details, but he can see the nervousness Neil has around his phone. He can see the urge to run in his twitchy little body.

(It’s not an excuse to go see him. Nope.)

So he climbs through the skylight and heads down the hall, down the stairs, down to where he last saw Neil.

At first, he’s glad to see that Neil is awake.

“There’s something –” he begins to say.

And then he sees the fever in Neil’s eyes, the flush in his cheeks, the sprawl of his long, long legs - like they've been kicked out from under him. Andrew inhales in and can almost smell the sickness on the air.

Neil is looking at him and seeing absolutely nothing.

Andrew crosses the room, touching just to take his temperature. Neil’s skin is clammy and hot. He keeps his hands clinical, reminding himself of how Aaron patched him up after nights that got too violent. 

“m’sorry,” Neil mumbles. “I’m fine. I’ll be good.”

But it doesn’t sound like he’s talking to Andrew. There’s a plea in his voice and Andrew hates it.

Neil doesn’t struggle as Andrew lifts him onto the sofa. He only whines when Andrew pulls away and goes to get him water.

Andrew searches the cupboards for aspirin or anything that could help with the raging temperature, but Neil’s shelves are depressingly barren. It’s all vegetables and protein bars.

“Gross,” Andrew says, seeing a box that claimed to be cinnamon and mint.

He goes back to Neil, ends up having to help him to drink, sip by sip.

Neil’s hands are scarred, just like the rest of him. They shake too much to hold onto the glass. Andrew forces himself not to look too closely, but he knows what he’s seeing - circular burns like that can only come from one thing.

“Easy,” he says, talking to Neil the way he would a stray cat. “Breathe.”

The water is half drunk when Neil turns his head away refusing any more. Andrew isn’t going to force him. He pushes the redhead back against the sofa. He looks utterly pathetic.

He finds Neil’s phone next.

It’s dead.

Rolling his eyes, Andrew digs out his own and calls Allison Reynolds.

“Minyard?” She picks up on the eighth or ninth ring. “You’ve never phoned me before.”

“Neil is sick,” he says. “Do you have anything for a fever?”

In less than handful of minutes, the decision is made. Andrew will bring Neil to Allison’s. She’ll take care of him.

But a short distance like that?

There’s only one way to transport Neil down the road and it doesn’t look like his legs are going to carry him any time soon.

Andrew sighs.

There’s nothing for it.

He scoops Neil into his arms and jostles him into place against his chest.

 _He’s tiny_ , Andrew’s brain supplies, unhelpful as ever. _He’s so little_.

Neil is, however, not light. He’s all limbs and wiry muscles, surprisingly strong as he wriggles in Andrew’s hold. Andrew shushes him, lets his thumb drag over the back of Neil’s neck in a gesture of comfort.

“Sorry, m’sorry.”

“Shut up,” Andrew says. He hates _sorry_ almost as much as _please_.

The trip down the road feels like it takes far too long.

“He’s so useless,” Allison says by way of greeting, pulling Andrew straight inside and leading him through her house and up to the guest room. Andrew can hear nothing but fond exasperation and worry in her voice. He wonders if anyone ever sounded that way about him. “Can’t take care of himself for love nor money. Thanks for calling me.”

Andrew nods, unable to do anything else because Neil is a barely coherent, dead-weight in his arms.

He tries to ignore the warmth of Neil’s mumbles against his throat. Tries to pretend he can’t feel Neil’s fingers tangled in his shirt.

Like everything else about Neil, it’s impossible. 

He doesn’t notice, but Allison ignores nothing. For a moment, her eyes are bright and cunning. Then Neil makes a sad whimpering noise and she’s back in mothering mode. No one brings it out of her like Neil.

Questions. Questions. She has so many questions.

How long had Neil been like this? _Unsure_.

Does Andrew know if he’d eaten? _No_.

What about hydration? _Coffee for breakfast. Water just now._

What the hell happened? _Unsure_.

(Andrew doesn’t tell her he found Neil outside on the roof, shivering and broken that morning. He knows Allison is Neil’s friend, but this isn’t his story to share.)

Tucking Neil into bed, she thanks Andrew again and he realises he’s being dismissed. He’s not sure why but it stings.

“There is one thing,” he says. “There was a car watching the house earlier.”

Allison stills. Her eyebrows knitting together. “Mine?”

“In part,” Andrew nods at Neil in the bed. “Mostly his.”

Decisions war in her eyes.

He shrugs. He doesn’t need to know whatever she’s wrestling with. “Could have been someone who liked your gardens.”

“Yeah…” she says. “Yes, that makes sense.”

It does not make sense.

But Andrew lets her brush him off and out of the house. He packs up his shit at Neil’s and goes home to his cats.

***

> N: thnk u 4 helping me yday. sorry 4 the hassle.
> 
> A: Don’t worry, I won’t charge extra.
> 
> N: uh thnks …
> 
> A: There’s soup in your fridge and paracetamol in your cupboards.
> 
> N: u made me soup?
> 
> A: No. Guy dropped it off as I arrived this morning. 
> 
> N: Matt Boyd?
> 
> A: Different guy.
> 
> N: Who?
> 
> A: No one important.
> 
> N: it wz u wznt it?
> 
> A: You have a smart phone, why do you type like it’s 2004?
> 
> N: thnk u again :)

***

> N: Ally picked up ur soup, it was v good tysm
> 
> A: […] is typing
> 
> A: […] is typing
> 
> A: […] is typing
> 
> N: lol u know i cn c u typing
> 
> A: […] is typing
> 
> A: you’re welcome

***

> N: thnks 4 the pics of the roof. Beginning 2 look like a roof again!
> 
> A: The rest should take about a week.
> 
> N: amazing!!!
> 
> ***
> 
> A: […] is typing
> 
> A: […] is typing
> 
> N: u r really bad at texting
> 
> N: r u ok?
> 
> A: I was going to ask you that.
> 
> N: awww r u worried abt me?
> 
> A: No.
> 
> N: ok ;P
> 
> A: You just sent me a winky P.
> 
> A: How old are you?
> 
> N: Not sure tbh – never celebrated burfdays.
> 
> N: that spllng wz just 4 u
> 
> A: I hate you.
> 
> A: Also you can move off the couch, your bedroom is now inhabitable again.
> 
> N: 😍😍😍
> 
> A: […] is typing
> 
> A: […] is typing
> 
> A: I wish I could block you. 

In Allison’s spare bedroom, Neil’s face broke into a small but delighted smile.

***

Allison keeps Neil at her place for most of the next day, and the next, and then next. She pretends to ignore the texting.

But his fever broke quickly, and he’s let himself be fed and coddled enough, now he’s determined to go home. Plus, his bedroom is fixed, Andrew said so. His own bed is a lure that not even Allison has the chomps to deny

“Stay for lunch,” Allison insists. “Let me make sure you’re okay.”

Thing is, he’s not good at letting people see him when he’s ill.

It’s one of the myriad mental scars that he can’t quite fix, but it’s usually so far down his list of worries that he can ignore it. Now, however, he has a headache and a miserable cold and all he wants is to be _home._

Home where Andrew has left him soup and meds and…

Neil can’t forget that Andrew was the one that found him. He can almost feel Andrew’s arms around him again when he closes his eyes. Strong and warm and lifting him to safety.

He wants to see him. He wants to thank him in person. He wants to maybe hug him if Andrew will let him. (He wants to feel Andrew’s arms around him again.)

“Beefcake…” Neil tests. It doesn’t sound that weird anymore.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Allison asks from the doorway. “You can stay you know.”

“I’m fine,” Neil says, jolting upright. “Or well… I’m not _fine_ but…”

“So, then who are you talking about?” She’s a sly one. “Dreaming of a certain beefy builder who rescued you, perhaps?”

Neil fights the urge to bury his face in his hands. She’ll eat him alive if she figures this one out. “No.”

But Neil is out of practice at lying and Allison knows him too well. Her grin is as wicked as any witch. “Someone has a crush.”

“I do not.”

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

“Do too. And don’t deny it, you’re blushing like Matt when he sees Dan after a game.”

“I don’t do crushes, Ally, you know this.”

“Maybe Minyard’s the exception,” she rolls her eyes. “There’s no accounting for taste. And _those arms_ , right? OH look how pink you are.”

Neil is pink. He can feel it. “I’m sick, stop it.”

Allison moves quickly, wraps him in a hug and he sinks into it. He can feel it as her mood sobers. The way her arms tighten. “You’re so important to us all, Neil. You need to look after yourself.”

Neil’s throat feels tight. His eyes hot. He blinks and blinks. _Has anyone told him he’s important before?_ Allison’s fingers stroke through his hair, soft and soothing even when his breathing stutters and he clutches a little too tight.

They rock together for a moment, two. Neil finally goes to pull away. Allison doesn’t let go.

“There’s also something I need to tell you…”

Neil goes still in her arms. He hates the sound in her voice – like she’s trying to protect him, like she thinks he’s a child. Only one topic makes her sound like that.

“Andrew said he saw a car watching the street yesterday.”

Ice rushes down his already aching bones. He can feel the swoop of the floor vanishing beneath his stomach, the scouring itch racing up his legs.

 _Run_ , he hears his mother’s voice. _Run and don’t look back and don’t trust anyone. Go. Now._

“It could be nothing, but I know you’ve been so stressed for a while now with the calls and… please don’t run again, okay. Let us help you.”

“Help me?” Neil says. He wrenches free with a little more force than he means. “How? You know who they are. You know what happened last time. Ally, I can’t stay.”

“Yes, you can. You have a restraining order. You have us. We can help.”

“Stop,” Neil says. He stands, sways on his feet, skitters away when Allison tries to support him. “Stop. Please just… back off okay.”

“Neil –”

“No.”

“Please don’t run.”

“I can’t stay.”

Before he can think, he’s out of the door and down the road and bursting into his own house.

Dashing up the stairs, he scrambles under the bed for where he knows his old duffle is still stashed. It’s empty at the moment, he’ll need to pack.

He’ll need to give himself time to get to a bank too.

Should empty his accounts. Make some calls. Maybe he can get out of the country. 

A creak on the stairs has him struggling upright again, spinning on his toes. He’s wheezing, out of breath, illness catching up to him. If this is one of _them_ …

His legs nearly give way when he sees it’s just Andrew.

Andrew with the gold eyes.

Andrew with the halo of pale hair.

Andrew with the arms that look like they could crush a man but who so gently carried him to Allison’s. 

Neil gasps and sits down on the bed with a thwump. His hands clutching his duffle. His eyes unable to move from Andrew.

“A man can only have so many issues,” Andrew says.

And all Neil can do is throw his head back and laugh.

***

Honesty looks awful on him, Andrew thinks when he sees Neil trembling in his bedroom, clutching a duffle that’s too tatty to still be called a bag.

The familiar freckled skin is blotchy and pale, his eyes too bright and intense enough to burn. And then he’s laughing - a broken and horrible thing - and Andrew wants to hit him. Wants to smack that sound out of Neil so hard that it can never come back. Wants to grab him and squeeze him until his pieces fit back together again.

He takes a step back instead. Breathes. Checks the hall.

There’s no one there. No sign of Allison running after a wayward patient. No one suspicious either.

He doesn’t know what to do.

Neil isn’t okay and it’s clear he’s not going to be any time soon.

There are fractures in his laugh. There are fissures in his eyes. Neil Josten is plummeting towards rock bottom and he’s not even trying to grab for purchase. He’s letting go.

One thing Andrew does know is that he absolutely does not want to see this man fall.

He approaches slowly, wary of Neil and his unstoppable laughter.

He reaches out and forcibly uncurls Neil's fingers from the bag, nudging it to the floor.

He pushes Neil's hands backwards when they twitch forward, holds them against the bed and stares Neil down with there’s nothing between them.

“Stop it,” he says. As if it’s that simple.

“I can’t…” Neil replies, still grinning so wide it has to hurt. “I have to go.”

But Neil doesn’t move.

He doesn’t even try to escape where Andrew has him pinned.

“This is about whoever’s stalking you.” Andrew makes a guess. “You think you’re going to walk out that door half hysterical and be fine?”

Neil’s grin grows impossibly wider and tears leak across his lashes. “I am not fine and nothing is going to be okay. This isn’t news.”

“No, it’s not.” Andrew rakes his attention down Neil’s body, lingering on the scars rather pointedly. “But running isn’t going to change that.”

“Dear Andrew, the things you don’t understand.” Neil says and his grin is all teeth, cutting through his words so they’re splintered and sharp.

Andrew doesn’t say: _try me_.

He doesn’t say: _I’ve been here, let me in_.

He doesn’t tell Neil anything. He stares him down, emotionless in the face of a devil.

And Neil’s mouth slowly, slowly, unspools from its grin.

Drops into a mocking ‘oh’.

But that too begins to fall, dissolving into something still wild, but less vicious.

Something Andrew might kiss one day.

And then Neil’s phone begins to ring.


End file.
